y the glass of wine you care for. Now tell me, Mr.
Tiffles, aren't you a woman hater?"

"When a man is asked that question, categorically, by a woman, his most
effective answer is to make love to her out of hand. Tiffles was not
prepared to do this in the present case, but he was willing to pay
compliments to any extent.

"Ah, Miss Wilkeson, there you do me great injustice," said he, with his
pleasantest of laughs. "I drink this glass of wine to 'lovely woman,'"
with a nod at Miss Wilkeson.

Miss Wilkeson giggled, and took a fly's sip from the brim of her glass.

Tiffles heaved a sigh. "We bachelors are poor, unhappy fellows, really
to be pitied."

"You are horrid creatures--you know you are--and deserve no pity from
us!" Miss Wilkeson played her frisky, juvenile part admirably.

"So charming, and yet so cruel!" said Tiffles, uttering the first
preposterous compliment that he thought of.

"You flatterer!" said Miss Wilkeson, beating a breeze toward him with
her fan.

Tiffles, observing that matters were coming to a crisis, paused. Miss
Wilkeson interpreted his silence as another attack of timidity. Time was
valuable to her, and this kind of conversation might be kept up all
night, and amount to nothing. She resolved upon her final _coup_.

"Oh! oh! Mr. Tiffles, what--what is the matter?" She looked wildly about
her.

"The matter! What matter?" exclaimed that gentleman, little suspecting
what was to happen.

"The wine--the warm weather--something--oh! oh!"

"With these inexplicable remarks, Miss Wilkeson dropped her fan, uttered
a slight but sharp scream, and fell back in her chair, like a withered
flower on a broken stalk.

"By thunder, she has fainted!" said the excited Tiffles. He had never
been in a similar dilemma, and did not know what to do. He had heard
tickling of the feet highly recommended in such cases; but that was
obviously impracticable. A dash of cold water in the face was also said
to afford instant relief; but there was no water at hand. "I must call
for help," said he.

This remark appeared to arouse Miss Wilkeson. "Support me," she
murmured. "I shall be better soon."

Tiffles, all accommodation, clasped her fragile waist with an arm, and
gently inclined her head upon his shoulder. She heaved a sigh, and gave
other tokens of returning animation. Tiffles here noticed that her face
had not the prevailing paleness which always accompanies fainting. He
instantly suspected the true natur